Chapter Text
Eddie wakes to the sound of machines beeping and the familiar, quiet bustling of a hospital ward. As his eyes flicker open, squinting in the bright light of the room, he struggles to remember how he ended up here.
The burly man from the alley. A gun. Buck.
Memories come flooding back to him. He scrabbles at the hospital sheets, trying desperately to get up, turn over, look for Buck.
He twists a little too frantically, because there's a sharp pain racing through his side and he's slumping back into his original position, too drained to move.
The rapid beeping of his heart monitor must attract a nurse's attention, because she's running into his room, clipboard in hand. Jessica, her nametag reads.
"Mr Diaz, glad you're finally awake. It was touch-and-go on the operating table, but it's good that you've woken up. You're currently on a small dose of morphine, but you'll most likely make a full recovery. We'll need you to take it easy for a few weeks, though. Your family will be most glad to know you're awake."
She gestures at the sofa in his room, and Eddie has to gingerly crane his neck to peer at it. Maybe he should ask for a higher dose of morphine, because what he sees makes his tender heart ache.
Buck is curled up onto the sofa, entire six-foot-two body crammed into a two-seater sofa with barely enough cushioning. He looks impossibly small, curled up in a position that cannot possibly be comfortable for him. He's curled away from Eddie, so he can't see Buck's face, but the tension in Buck's shoulders, even as he sleeps, belies his anxiety.
"He hasn't left since he brought you in, you know," Jessica says. "You're lucky to have family like that."
Eddie's stunned. "We're not- how long was I out?" A cold panic settles in his gut. The way Jessica spoke, it seemed like he'd been here for some time. Christopher.
"It's currently noon, so about a day and a half?" Jessica says, oblivious to his internal monologue, "your son and grandmother did come in yesterday to see you, too."
Shit, Eddie thinks. He'd gone and gotten himself into a position like this, made Chris have to see his other parent - the only one left - lying helpless in a hospital bed. Losing his mother had rendered Chris inconsolable for weeks, Eddie can't imagine what he must've felt seeing his dad like this.
Never again, he'd sworn.
He was in Texas the last time this happened. He'd been making a big name for himself there, taking down organised crime, until he wasn't. He'd followed a gang member down an alley, right into a trap. Beaten within an inch of his life, was what Shannon had said, anger palpable as she saw him in the hospital room. Shannon had known. She hadn't liked it, but she couldn't stop him.
What would Chris do, she would ask, without his dad? He'd wanted to tell her, that things wouldn't change, that Chris didn't need him as long as she was around anyway.
Until she wasn't around anymore and he was alone.
He stopped fighting in Texas, throwing himself into his work and caring for Chris. Even on nights where he had the time, he didn't have the energy. And truthfully, he couldn't bring himself to step back out into the night. There was too much to lose, and he'd been reminded of every bruise and cut that he'd had to recover from.
So Flip disappeared from Texas. Eddie reappeared in his son's life.
His move to LA had been a spur-of-the-moment thing. Meeting Buck, getting back into his vigilante life, wasn't part of the plan. He'd been going to the store when he'd seen Adam bleeding out in an alley, and it sent adrenaline coursing through his veins. Truth be told, he'd missed the chase, the satisfaction of catching bad guys, the purpose of taking crime off the streets.
When the opportunity was placed in front of him on a silver platter, he took it.
And Levitate had been a wonderful partner, not just on the job, but as a friend. He'd realised it was Buck - those stupid bagel bites - realised that Levitate turned out to be his best friend, a person that had wormed his way into Eddie's heart, tore down the steel walls surrounding them.
On hindsight, it wasn't all that surprising.
He didn't want Buck to know, hoping that Buck wouldn't stop him with concerns about leaving Chris behind. Hypocritical, he knows, but he'd just discovered his life, his purpose again, and he wasn't about to give it up.
He'd been playing it safe, he'd been lucky, up until that night. Still, he wouldn't have done anything differently. He'd still have taken that bullet for Buck.
He didn't know what possessed him, in that split second, to make sure that Buck was okay. His body must have moved on its own. He should've guessed that when he came down to it, he'd protect Buck.
Because, beneath his stoic exterior, Eddie knew exactly how he felt about Buck.
The moment they'd met, Eddie found his ridiculous posturing entertaining. Buck acted like a little puppy trying to protect his territory, until he didn't. After the ambulance, it was adorable, the way he'd gone from all macho to sunshine smiles with a simple compliment. And Eddie would be lying if he didn't want to see that smile all the time.
Working together at the station gave Eddie even more time to spend with him - working side by side, shoulder to shoulder, made Buck stand out. Sure, physically, he was absolutely stunning, but his commitment to serve, to the job, was enough to make Eddie admire the guy. He was born to be a firefighter, and he knew it. His devotion, his loyalty, all that heart, made him truly shine.
Then he'd introduced Eddie to Carla. Like Buck, Carla was probably an angel sent from the heavens. She'd helped with his expenses, helped with his time, had become such an integral part of Eddie and Chris' lives. It was amazing, the way she was around Chris. But Buck had seen through Eddie's blustering "I'll be okay" and gave him help, not in the overbearing way that he'd fled from, but in a way that enabled. He'd helped Eddie help himself. It was in that moment that Eddie had known that Buck was here to stay, and that if he tried to leave, Eddie would be helpless.
Every call that Buck spends running directly into danger sends Eddie's heart into overdrive. It was one of those calls that he'd had the revelation, an epiphany that what he'd been feeling wasn't exactly hundred percent platonic.
It's been a downward spiral since then. Buck's eyes, his smile, his loving personality, filled up his and Chris' home with so much joy that he can't help but fall.
Can't help falling in love with you, he thinks. So cliche.
His eyes drift over to where Buck lies, shirt stretched thin over his shoulders. He'd gotten a change of clothes, probably when Chris and abuela had visited.
Before that call, they'd fought. Eddie could probably count the number of times they'd fought on one hand, but each time, it had taken days, if not weeks, for them to figure it out. Stubborn and obstinate, his parents had called him, and it wasn't untrue.
But he shouldn't have tried so hard to push his views on Buck. He'd realised this not too long after he'd left Buck in that alley.
He'd spent his life having views pushed on him. Join the army, fight for your country. Don't you want to be a patriot? Stay at home, take care of your son. Don't you want to be a better father?
It had never made him feel any better about himself. On hindsight, he knew how it felt, to have people who are supposed to care about you, supposed to listen, push things like this onto him. He'd wanted to apologise, but he didn't know how.
Probably his greatest weakness, Eddie supposes. Apologising.
On the sofa, Buck stirs. He stretches his arms above his head, hitting the wall with a thunk, before rolling over.
His eyes catch Eddie's, fixed on him, and all movement stops.
"You look like shit," Eddie says, completely aware of how he's the one lying in a hospital bed. He doesn't know what else to say.
It isn't false, either, because Buck's eyes are red-rimmed and his hair looks like it has almost been pulled from its roots. Buck's also completely aware of the irony of the situation, because he lets out a short, surprised laugh.
"You do too," he says, "how are you feeling?"
"Better. I'm on morphine, but I don't think it's enough. I don't feel high enough."
The silence feels jilted, and Buck looks down at the floor, but Eddie's eyes are still trained on him.
"Buck. I'm sorry."
Ha. Take that, old Eddie, look at him, consciously working on his issues.
Buck looks up at him, and there are tears in his eyes.
"Are you? Do you know what seeing you like this has done to me? Do you know that I had to call abuela, tell her that her grandson is in hospital, getting surgery after getting shot, knowing that it was my fault? Do you know that I had to look Chris in the eye, tell him that his dad was going to be fine, even though I didn't know if you'd ever wake up? You don't, Edmundo Diaz."
"I'm so fucking angry at you, for taking that risk. I'm fucking angry at myself, for not stopping you from doing this sooner. It's dangerous, it's risky, and you've got too much to lose. And I didn't want to have to lose you, too."
Buck's voice gets softer and softer, tears coming full force.
"Buck. Evan. Come here," Eddie says, not quite knowing what to say.
He hesitantly shuffles over to Eddie's bed, before Eddie is reaching up - ignoring the pain in his abdomen - and pulling him into a hug.
"I'm sorry," Eddie whispers, "but it isn't your fault. I took this risk, I knew the consequences. But when he fired that bullet, I knew I couldn't lose you, either. I'm lucky, Buck, look on the bright side. We're both alive."
Buck's eyes are filled with such doubt, but also relief. God, Eddie loves how expressive his eyes are. If asked, Eddie blames those eyes for what he says next.
"I love you." It's sudden, too sudden, but Eddie's never been the best at timing. His feelings just bounce around his chest until they become too much and they come spilling out of him.
Buck's eyes widen in surprise. Has Eddie mentioned how much he likes those eyes?
"Obviously I love you too," Buck replies, hand gripping Eddie's forearm. He says it like a fact, traces of residual anger still in his voice.
"Good," Eddie says, staring up at him. There's tenderness in his chest.
He knows that later, when both of them have gotten the rest they need, there's lots to talk about, lots to resolve, but in this moment, it's just the two of them.
Buck really is the best thing that has ever happened to him.